


In The Shadows

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The reader is a singer in Sakaar. She notices strange things going on since the arrival of a dark-haired stranger.





	In The Shadows

Odd things were happening in Sakaar. You had never been one for the status quo but it had kept you alive, but since the arrival of this new stranger your life had become filled with anomalies. Perhaps it was bad timing on his part or a circumstance of chance, but the air was filled with tension, a static which nipped at your ears.

Or maybe it was you. You were just imagining it; manufacturing the sense that you were being watched or the slight discrepancies which arose all too often. Maybe you had moved that comb from the vanity or turned on both lights. Maybe that dark shadow which lingered in the corner of your eye was a chronic speck; another nuisance in a series of many.

You hadn’t the time to think on it for long. You had to get ready for another show. You were not fond of your work but it kept you from less respectable tasks. You could be like most others in the Grand Master’s nefarious circle, trading pleasure for comfort. All you had to do was sing…and a little bit of dancing.

You lined your crimson eyes with kohl, thickening your lashes with ointment and painting your lips in a deep shade of violet. Your blue-tinted skin shone under a layer of powder and your thick hair hung in finely-shaped waves. It was your peculiarity which kept the Grand Master from ordering your disposal and your voice which kept you off your back.

 _Where was your damned necklace?_  You had sworn it had just been hanging before you with the rest. At this point, you were beginning to worry for your sanity. The gold chain was gone and you were due for the stage in minutes. You huffed and relented in your search; surely one simple piece of jewelry would not ruin your show.

You shrugged off your frustration and made for the stage, passing through the curtain as you did every night. Performing had grown second nature, boring even. You had preferable skills, more useful than gallivanting in front of a crowd. Yet in Sakaar, these skills would see you in a worse position.

You went through the motions, singing lyrics without thought, moving without will, your audience a blur. The Grand Master could always be heard during the applause, ever the glutton for attention. When you finished your set, he stopped you, kissing your hand in his slimy way and gifting you with his usual financial prize.

“One of these days, Y/N,” He slithered as you walked away, “You’ll change your mind about me.”

“That’s the day I’m dead,” You waved over your shoulder and he gave his childish giggle; for someone who would throw a tantrum at the smallest pitfall, he found humour in your scathing repartee. Unlike many, your sharp tongue had saved you trouble.

You crossed to the bar; alcohol washed away the dirt of your performance. You always felt so repulsive after. It wasn’t as if you offered the same favours as the desperate, but it was still degrading. It was not a whole life.

You crossed your legs as you sat atop the barstool and sipped from the frosty cocktail glass. Three or four more and you may even sleep. 

You felt that heat. That uneasy feeling that you were being observed and yet as you turned, you found no one looking. Only a dark figure, graceful and unsettling, slipping into the shadows.

You peeked at the Grand Master with his usual crowd, enraptured in their decadence and lust. You slid off the stool, downing the last of your drink. You’d rather not be watched by whatever creep was hidden amidst the horde of fiends. You were always happier by yourself, or rather, used to it.

Your room was small but better than sleeping on the street. Better than fighting for ravenous onlookers. Better than losing the last of your dignity. You crossed to the glass cabinet in the corner, pulling forth a bottle of wine. You still couldn’t shake that unsettling paranoia, even the promise of a drunken stupor did little to comfort you.

You uncorked the bottle and sat at your vanity, wiping the make up from your face. Your skin was darker without, the blue shade ashy in the light. You drank deeply from the wine and set it down, steadying it as you nearly placed it a atop something. You stared at the gold chain, coiled neatly on your vanity, lifting it with two fingers as if it were a snake.

“You best come out of wherever you’re hiding,” You warned, your hair standing on end, “If you don’t, I’ll find you and drag you to the fighting pits.”

“I thought you’d never catch on, Y/N,” The stranger appeared as if from nowhere, slithering along with his voice.

“I’ve noticed,” You turned and dropped the necklace, standing as you set your eyes to stone, “Who are you?” You demanded, striking a combative stance.

“Who am I truly or who am I here?” Your glare did not waver and he chuckled, “My name is Loki.”

“Hmm,” You squinted at him, having heard the name before, “What are you doing in my room and why have you been touching my things?”

“I’ve merely been admiring them…and you,” His dark hair shone beneath the lights, his movements lithe and predatory.

“Why?” You were ready to pummel him.

He shrugged, striding carelessly, taunting you. You stormed towards him and grabbed him by the throat, looking into his unyielding eyes; they held no fear and no doubt. Amusement coloured his face as he grinned.

The frost spreading from your hand had no effect on him and a swath of blue began to spread beneath your palm. You recoiled and watched as his skin returned to its ivory palour, curious despite his intrusion.

“You are Jotun,” You stated evenly, “Though you don’t look like one.”

“You’re not so big as most Jotun I’ve known,” He returned, “Even for a female.”

“My mother was Jotun, my father was…absent.”

“Ahh, a halfling,” He mused, stepping closer, “I am merely of a limited stature, though I hide my race well. But you…you look near to a true Frost Giant.” He raised his fingers to your cheek, caressing your coloured skin, “Icy, too, but I suspect there’s warmth to be found.”

You realized his suggestion and nearly seized him again, tempted to wring his neck to your content. But you couldn’t help the spark his interest lit in you. Though you had evaded the Grand Master’s eye, it did not mean you had no longing for attention. It was only that you favoured genuine lust to self-aggrandizing desire.

“I ask again, why are you here?” You retreated, seeking refuge in your bottle of wine. You drank deeply, fighting back the urges you had so long suppressed.

“Because I grow bored of the Grand Master and his little amusements. To be quite honest, I was never very impressed with them but I realize the order of things; what must be done to survive. As you do,” He drew closer again, stopping the bottle before you could raise it to your lips one more.

He took it from you firmly and drank from it, returning it to you promptly, “One thing has managed to catch my interest in this overwrought technicolour nightmare,” He tilted his head as he brought his fingers to your collarbone, tracing the line visible along the collar of your dress, “You. It is a feat indeed as I’ve never been one to tarry without cause. I should’ve already been on my way to the next planet, but you intrigue me.”

“Should I be flattered? Falling at your feet at such cloying praise?” You countered, refusing to look away. He would not make you flinch, even as his finger tips grazed your neckline and fiddled with your dress.

“I suspect you’re the type to only do as she pleases, but I cannot say I do not covet the sight of you exposed and compromised,” His eyes flicked downward for a moment and his grin widened, “But I can also tell by the goose pimples forming beneath my touch and that subtle shudder you think I did not notice, that what you please is akin to my own desires.”

“I do not desire for strange Jotun to break into my room, drink my wine, and fondle me,” You challenge, though your lips curled in betrayal.

“You’re a poor liar, you’re much more believable upon the stage,” He wrapped his fingers around the strap of your dress, “You almost seem a woman.”

“And you seem almost a man,” You set aside the wine before seizing his throat once more, holding him back before he could kiss you, “Our kind do not fuck like Asgardians…even if dressed like them.” You looked him up and down and scoffed.

“I know our ways well,” He latched onto your wrist, twisting it away from his throat. He batted and blocked each jab until his hand was upon your neck and your other strap was sliding down your shoulder, “I am the only who knows why a Jotun sees no interest in this farcical paradise.”

“All talk…” You teased, grabbing his wrist and holding it in place, “I’m waiting for action.”

In a moment, he disappeared, his form turning to air. You felt his presence behind you as he pressed against your back, snaking his arm around you. He tugged your hair so that you were forced to raise your chin and his hot breath tickled your neck. He had more tricks than your typical Jotun.

He turned you so that you faced the mirror of the vanity, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, nibbling on the flesh. Slowly, he inched the straps of your dress lower,  your neck line sagging easily. He tore your bodice away from your breasts, glancing up briefly to admire them in the mirror. Seeing yourself elicited a thrill in you that had eluded you for years.

You pulled away, turning to him with fire in your eyes. He seemed surprised at first, grinning as you grabbed him by his collar and dragged him towards the bed. You tore at his jacket until the buttons broke from their stitches, falling to the floor in a scatter. You could see that it incensed him but aroused him all the same.

Loki shed his jacket swiftly, his tunic following without pause. He turned his attention back to you as he shimmied your dress further down your waist. His hands grazed the curves of your waist, at once kneading your flesh with hunger.

When your dress at last fell to the floor, puddled around your ankles, he turned you again. He nudged you so that your knees hit the bed and you were forced to sit. He was delighted to find you lacked underclothes. It was almost as if you had been ready for him.

He forced your knees apart, dragging his fingertips along your inner thighs. It was your one weakness. You were terribly ticklish and had to resist from crushing his hands with your legs, struggling to them akimbo.

His eyes followed his careful tending, seemingly examining every line and pore of your flesh. He leaned closer, teasing your thigh with his nose before nibbling at them and causing you to moan. The sound only encouraged him as he trailed further up your leg.

His hands moved to your hips as he angled you onto the edge of the bed, shuffling closer as he got to his knees. His fingers fluttered along your torso, along your hips and waist, cupping and caressing your breasts, his mouth working in unison. He teethed and teased until he worked lower, bending his head to your warmth.

He nuzzled at the thin layer of hair, a subtle growl as he massaged your thighs. It was almost a shock as his tongue flicked between your folds, a shy introduction. You wriggled and he gripped your thighs, plying his mouth with intent.

You leaned back on your hands, clawing the blanket as you tried not to whimpered. As vexing as his tongue was when he spoke, it was pleasing when he was tending to other senses. Even so, you did not want to surrender so easily, to give him the satisfaction of your lust. Thus you bit your tongue and clung to the covers.

Your thighs tensed against your will and you squeaked; a noise which you had never made before. You heaved and curled your spine, his tongue circling your nub and sending waves throughout your body. You would have fallen back had you not grasped Loki’s head, burying your fingers in the silky waves.

You moaned through your teeth, trying to stifle the sudden climax. The storm which suddenly turned to lightning, pulsing and flowing through your veins. As you twitched and squirmed, he continued to toy with you until you could bear no more. You pushed away and laid back on the mattress, holding yourself up with your elbows.

He brushed back his dark hair and smirked at you, gratified at your reaction. You crossed your legs and eyed him up and down, “Well,” You said coyly, leaning back so that the cool air washed over your naked body, “It’s a bit early for celebration,” You saw the flicker in his eye; he was easily provoked, “You’ve work to do yet, Asgardian.”

“Your mouth will not be so trite when I’m done with you,” You kicked off his boots easily, coming nearer as he unbuckled his belt. It was a promise and threat all at once.

Loki bared himself, stepping out of his trousers as you admired his excitement. Of all your time in Sakaar, he was the only to arouse you, to draw your eye past your own misery. You needed him and you would not deny yourself the first taste of pleasure after the famine.

He climbed up on the bed, moving like a jungle cat on all fours. He crawled over you, hovering his lips above yours as he held your gaze. His eyes were smoky with desire, widening as you subtly moved your hand to touch him. 

You lightly caressed his length, circling the head to draw a spasm from him. He bit his lip, lowering his head to run his nose along your cheek. He nibbled your ear and released a dusky sigh, “I’m not finished.”

He reached down and moved your hand away from his shaft, pressing his fingers against your sex. He played with your clit before pushing inside, slowly moving within you. That familiar tingle began to build, that overwhelming hunger for satisfaction. When all other thoughts and worries were set aside for the present; for the physical, the touch, the heat, the attraction.

He removed his fingers and you felt the head of his member as he rubbed it along your nub. You shuddered and pulled at his hair, forcing his head up as you set to kissing and biting at his pale neck. His own hand was tangled in your locks as he pushed inside and you brought your legs up around him, urging him deeper.

As he began to thrust, you moaned and heard his muffled chuckle. You were too entranced to care however. You moved your pelvis in time with him, aiding in his motion. You reached down and dug your nails into his naked buttocks, each breath growing more ragged.

His own groans and grunts began to rise as your head lolled back. He picked up speed and force, hitting nerves never touched before. You no longer had the strength to tease him, you merely hugged him closer with your legs and kneaded at his flesh. Your thighs trembled but you kept him firmly between them, clinging to his shoulders as you spun him onto his back.

With him beneath you, you regained your bearing and began to rock a top him. It was even better now that you could see the sheer desire which coloured his cheeks and knit his brows. Your thighs burned as you worked on to of him, his hands upon your breasts as he toyed with your nipples.

His fingers crept upwards and his hands closed around your neck, applying enough pressure to make you gasp. Your breath came harder but it was a strength you revelled in, longed for. It was your turn to be upended as Loki flipped you onto your back, pinning your legs beneath his.

His efforts mounted as he kept his hands on your throat, thrusting with more and more fervour. The muscles in his stomach began to contract and he trembled despite his power over you. Your own climax was close, your head spinning as it burst against your will.

Your body went limp as it coursed through you and Loki cried out as his motion slowed to a deliberate stroke. You felt the warmth spill within you and it sent another prickle of pleasure up your spine. Loki released you as he panted, weakly falling beside you on the mattress. Your breath kept in time with his hurried gasps until at last your throat ceased to burn.

“That tongue isn’t so clever now, is it?” He slithered as he propped himself up on his elbow, his hand running the length of your stomach.

“No, not so skilled as your own,” You mewled as his fingers tickled your pelvic bone, another shiver radiating at his touch.

Odd things were indeed happening in Sakaar. The night had come and you were happy. Welcoming the stranger who hid in the shadows.

* * *


End file.
